


Monday Nights are for The Bachelor

by tiedtogetherwithadagger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Implied Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, derek likes to give in to stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 20:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10421502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedtogetherwithadagger/pseuds/tiedtogetherwithadagger
Summary: I was given this prompt on tumblr and kind of had my way with it because I was watching The Bachelor at the time:Domestic & arguing over the remote #prompt :D(teen and up for minor swearing)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know if the parentheses are confusing but the italicized parentheses are Derek's thoughts. I don't think I had any of Stiles's thoughts in here that weren't given by the narrator. Oh! That brings me to my other note. I used APA standards for Stiles's name (hehe, see what I did there) when it's possessive so if that reads weirdly, well, idk. Names with an 's' at he end are weird when it comes to possession. If you disagree or think it would be better as Stiles' let me know! I think that's AP style, which is also confusing. AP versus APA. Yeah, that helps.

Stiles knew from experience that Derek could be stubborn. He knew that mostly because Stiles held himself to a pretty high standard of stubbornness that was, on occasion, met with an even higher amount of stubbornness in the six feet that built up Derek Hale. In every instance, Stiles always found himself surprised and, if he was being honest with himself, impressed.

This was not one of those occasions.

Monday nights were dedicated to _The Bachelor_. Derek thought it was a fair request since it was only two hours, one night, each week, for six weeks out of the year, that he required the television in his own loft. The pack had other thoughts on the matter -- the use of Derek’s television, not on _The Bachelor_ \-- the pack thankfully had no clue about Derek’s secret love affair with the reality show. Derek _had_ decided to turn four teenagers into his betas, but he was not an idiot. Okay, ignore that last example.

The point still stood that Derek had every right to lock himself in his apartment on Monday nights with a bottle of red wine and bowl of microwave popcorn to watch a reality show that may or may not contain the use of tears, wildly concocted fights, and artfully chiseled men. The pack was settled now and Derek didn't need to be on call 24/7 where he had in the past. There hadn’t been any supernatural issues in months. Well, unless you counted the time Scott contracted a were-flu and all the werewolves in the pack were reduced to sniffling blanket piles. Stiles had shouldered the brunt of mothering everyone as they regained their strength and while he complained profusely, Derek had suspected the whole ordeal had been an ego boost for the kid.

A ding sounded from the kitchen and Derek took the popcorn out of the microwave, taking care not to burn his fingertips as he grasped it by the corners and tried in vain not to rip the bag in half. The effort was futile, as it always was, and Derek inevitably had a steaming cloud of popcorn explode in his face before falling to the floor. You would think that growing up with werewolf strength would give Derek the time and opportunity to figure out how to do something as mundane as opening a bag of popcorn without it staging a coup, but this was one skill he could not grasp. He stood there, dumbfounded, when he heard a key turn in the apartment’s lock and Stiles walked in. He looked at Derek and blinked.

“I have so many questions,” started Stiles.

“Nope. Not a word. Just help me clean this up,” Derek bent down and tried to hold back the blush that was spreading to his ears. Thankfully, Stiles declined to comment for the moment and hefted a mighty sigh before he dumped his things on the couch and made his way over to the cabinet under the sink to grab the dustpan and brush he had stashed there as soon as he found out Derek was living here. Most of the time Stiles used the cleaning supplies he bought for the loft for the messes _he_ made. Being around werewolf reflexes tended to make you the clumsiest person in the room, and Stiles already held that title with humans.

“Stop grinning, Stiles.”

“I’m not grinning. Why would you think I was grinning? Why would I be grinning? There’s absolutely nothing to grin about at all.” Even as he said the words his grin grew wider and devious.

“Stiles,” Derek warned.

“That poor little bag never stood a chance against your wolfy arms, did it? Why give it hope, Der? That’s just cruel.” Stiles then proceeded to pick the torn bag covered in artificial butter and gingerly fold it - _It_ _was a popcorn paper bag, why was he acting like it had feelings?_ , Derek mused to himself - into what Stiles probably thought resembled an origami...turtle?

“It’s a wolf!” Stiles beamed.

Derek looked at the greasy paper blob that Stiles presented to him. “It…is?”

“Yeah! Look, those are the ears and that’s the snout and there’s the tail,” Stiles pointed to several sub-blobs on the paper blob but as far as Derek could tell, there wasn’t any sense to it. Stiles seemed so _proud_ of himself. Derek couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but his earnestness always tugged a little at his chest.

He took the crumpled ball of paper from Stiles’s hand, fighting against the awkward urge to linger his fingers on Stiles’s palm, and leaned over him to place it on the bookcase behind him. Stiles’s gaze followed the motion and lingered on the origami 'wolf' before trailing to the framed photo that stood next it. The picture showed the Hale family before the fire had wiped them out. Stiles immediately zeroed in -- as it always did -- on the babyfaced Derek, wedged between his cousins and behind his sisters, Laura and Cora. He imagined Laura elbowing him behind them and Derek trying to perfect his brooding smoulder, indulging them just the same. Stiles would deny it with his last breath but he thought of Derek in these imaginary moments often.

“Are you keeping it?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

Derek felt his face flush but refused to answer. Instead, he dropped the last of the popcorn in the trash. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” Deflection. Pure deflection. Luckily, Stiles took the bait.

“So,” he dragged out the word as if he was jumping into song, “Scott and I were watching the football game last weekend and I bet that his team would lose. And they did! So obviously I was a gracious winner and when I got up to grab our nachos, the lamp tried to make a go at me. Thankfully all those training sessions I have with the pack gave me the flawless physique I have today,” Stiles paused to wave his hands down to encompass his body, “and when I deftly moved out of way, the lamp _may_ have fallen into the TV. And broke it. Maybe.”

“Right. That’s obviously how it happened.”

“Anyways, long story short,” Derek raised his eyebrows at that, “the TV’s broken and the new episode of _Supergirl_ is on tonight.” There may have been a whine in Stiles’s voice that he hoped Derek didn’t pick up on.

“Was there a request in there somewhere that I missed?” asked Derek.

“Yes. Right between me helping you clean up your popcorn disaster and making myself comfortable on your couch.” And true to his word, Stiles plopped down on what he had proclaimed was _his spot_ the day they had carried the couch into the apartment. Derek ignored how much he liked the idea of Stiles having a permanent place carved into his home. The television was already on and there was a commercial for hemorrhoid cream playing across the screen.

Derek froze as he remembered what channel he had it on and exactly what time it was. He turned in slow motion to see Stiles trying to find the remote and hear the opening credits to _The Bachelor_ play loudly, too loudly to be passed off as anything but the music for the show. Stiles also froze, but for an entirely different reason. There was an evil _evil_ grin on his face as he turned to Derek in the same slow motion, remote in hand.

Derek pounced. He knew it was too late, that he was already screwed, but dammit if he could just change the channel before Chris Harrison started talking maybe Stiles would forget. Maybe Derek could play it off like he was watching whatever was on before ( _What was on before? The news?_ ). Of course, if Derek was playing it off casually he was doing a piss poor job of it. His whole body was braced over Stiles’s as they both fought over control of the remote. Stiles surprisingly held his own and it was _not_ the time for Derek to be proud of him goddammit.

“Stiles!” Derek growled out desperately and huffed when Stiles’s knee made contact with Derek’s stomach.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry, Derek! I promise I didn’t mean to do that!” His words kind of lost their meaning when Stiles shifted to try to prevent himself from kneeing Derek again and _actually kneed Derek again_. What was his life, seriously? “That was also not on purpose!”

“Stiles! Just let -” huff “- go -” another huff “- of the remote!” Derek was on top of him and he was breathing heavily and Stiles’s brain broke because that was too much for him to handle.

Chris Harrison started talking on the screen about the ‘historic’ ( _Really, Chris?_ ) episode in store for them and Derek abruptly stopped fighting, finally accepting that the battle was lost. His eyes were wide, cheeks red, and shirt disheveled and Stiles was not doing any better.

“So,” Stiles tried after a moment, “ _The Bachelor_ , huh?”

“Shut up and make some more popcorn, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come check me out on [tumblr](http://tiedtogetherwithadagger.tumblr.com/)!


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